


the alton brown job

by livingtheobsessedlife



Category: Leverage
Genre: Cutthroat Kitchen, Eliot spencer is a cooking GOD, F/M, I’m aware that his cooking prowess is unrealistic but I do not care, M/M, Original chef character, cooking show au, when Alton brown needs saving you save Alton brown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife
Summary: It’s the first legitimate, not-at-all-illegal thing Eliot’s done in months. He gets onto Cutthroat kitchen through all the proper channels- sends in an official audition video and everything. But then, of course- he really should’ve known- Hardison hacks his and Parker’s way onto the show with Eliot.They promise him they’re just there for a little fun, they won’t even bother him. But then, of course, as is oft to happen with leverage and associates: they find a job.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 119





	the alton brown job

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve worked on this on and off for over two years now and I’m honestly so proud this is done

“You’re up, Eliot,” A tech hisses, pushing him in the direction of a door very ominously marked KITCHEN. Eliot takes a deep, steadying breath as if he’s about to face the most devastating war zone of his lifetime, the fiercest battle, as if he hadn’t defeated terrorists and criminals and masters of every form of martial arts at one point or another in his life. He opens the door and proudly stalks into the kitchen, the bustling of stagehands and production assistants whistling behind him like an irate tea kettle put suddenly on mute. 

Alton Brown’s voice booms in the large, metal kitchen as he announces Eliot’s presence, “Our first chef today is not currently pursuing a career in the culinary arts, but went to a prestigious culinary school and has worked hard to prove to us that he’s worthy of being here today. Please welcome, Chef Eliot.” 

Eliot waves grimly at the camera as he passes, not pausing until he reaches his table and he spreads his knives out proudly for his own personal perusal, feeling his own nerves come to a still. Eliot Spencer feels most at ease on a battlefield. 

The next chef to stalk into the kitchen boasted of a billboarded position as sous chef at an executive restaurant in Texas of all places. As he enters, Eliot feels himself glare at his competition, adopting his typical expression of ferocity. His opponent appears unperturbed, unamused- Eliot had long ago discovered that the steel of chefs was often stronger than that of bona fide career criminals. 

Alton continues his monologue dramatically, “Please welcome, Chef Dwight!” 

Dwight takes his place at the station neighboring Eliot's and glances over smugly. Eliot had not a doubt in his mind that he could take him. He had taken on stronger. 

“Our third chef,” Alton crows, “Has one of the most impressive resumés of any chef that has ever competed on this show. He not only owns a handful of restaurants in New England, but he has been the head chef of several well-known five star restaurants in the region. Without further ado, here is… Chef Hardison!”

 _Hardison?_ Eliot wonders in the back of his mind, _A strange coincidence, surely._ Not at all. There is no such thing as coincidences when it comes to Leverage and Associates. 

Sure enough, Alec Hardison jogs out from backstage next, pumping his arms up and down in the air like he was trying to hype up the nonexistent crowd before a big game. He slides into his position at the next open station. 

The glare that Eliot narrows onto Hardison is _otherworldly_. And then…

“Last But certainly not least allow me introduce to you… Chef Parker!”

Eliot briefly considers utilizing the knives at his disposal for purposes not entirely conventional in the kitchen, such as, though this is just you know an _idea_ , gouging out his partners’ eyes. Parker just stands at her station looking incredibly gleeful, glancing in Eliot’s direction as he passively contemplates her bloody, bloody homicide. 

Alton’s booming voice brings Eliot back to the present. Eliot surely looked like an insulted bulldog, furious and unrelenting in his hardened stance. He wouldn’t be a fan favorite, that was for sure- or maybe he would, he’d heard the viewers were weird like that. _Dammit, Parker_. This was supposed to be his day off, god forbid. He should’ve expected them to track him down, hack their way into the show. _Damn disrespectful is what it is._

“For our first dish, we’re going to be making… tacos! Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Well, this is cutthroat kitchen so your dish better be anything but just _simple_! Good luck chefs, your time to collect all of your ingredients from our pantry starts… _now_!”

Eliot is as ready as any man who has entered countless war zones without so much as a twitch in his lifetime. He grabs his basket and rushes into the huge pantry, methodically reaching for the items he knows that he will need for his dish. He was going to do this strategically, not just flippantly reach for items, no. Eliot had a plan as per usual. 

It did not appear, however, that Parker and Hardison were approaching their challenge with the same sort of methodical thinking as he was. Nobody is surprised. The hacker and the thief dance around the pantry, laughing their asses off and looking like they have absolutely zero plan. Hardison goes for the ‘grab-as-many-items-as-humanly-possible’ route, going as far as sweeping entire shelves into his basket. Parker doesn’t even _try_ to get items. She reaches for sugar and chocolate in a semblance of an attempt, then spends the rest of the time stealing things from the other chefs baskets. She managed to nab Eliot’s green onions, but Eliot knows how she is, criminal until her dying breath, and refuses to let her steal anything else. Dwight, on the contrary, did not anticipate any of his adversaries being an internationally renowned thief, so Parker gladly pickpockets half his basket without him even realizing what hit him.

“Time’s almost up, chefs!” Alton yells from the kitchen, “Three seconds!”

Eliot grabs one final ingredient and sprints out of the pantry, Dwight hot on his heels. Out of the corner of his eye, Eliot watches as Parker deftly pockets one last item from Dwight’s basket, Hardison throwing his head back in laughter in response. 

“Alright, chefs, make your way back to your stations. This may seem pretty easy _now_ , but next off we have the bidding where you are allowed to spend your not-at-all-hard-earned money on spoiling your opponents’ meals. Are you ready?”

Hardison makes an exaggerated whooping sound on the other side of Dwight and it takes every speck of Eliot’s military training to keep back the insatiable urge to roll his eyes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Eliot catches Dwight frantically rummaging through his basket, a confused, worried expression wrinkling his brows. Eliot suppresses a grin: he’s noticed Parker’s stealing. Eliot almost pitiés the guy. He’s missing some pretty imperative pieces. Oops. ‘Tis the nature of a Parker.

The bidding goes… just about as expected. Hardison attempts to initiate high stakes bidding wars, raising the prices by several thousands with each go, while Parker stands to the side and smells her money greedily. Eliot doesn’t even _try_ to bid on the challenges. He knows the lengths that Hardison will go to win them, carelessly throwing all his money at the first try, and Dwight discovers this too, quickly backing out as Hardison adds thousands to bids he’s already winning. 

Eliot actually rolls his eyes this time. 

Hardison gives Eliot every single one of the challenges. 

“Chef Eliot, you have all three of this meal’s challenges,” Alton says, vaguely incredulous. They all watch as Parker and Hardison high five on the other half of the kitchen, “Good luck to you. Ready. Get set. tacos.”

Culinary chaos ensues. Eliot is more than ready. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“Mr. Hardison,” A voice says from behind the camera, “Tell us why you gave all three of the challenges to Chef Elliot.”

Hardison lets out a big, barking laugh, leaning back in the folding chair they’d given him, arm slung over the back, “I thought it’d be really funny to ruin that guy’s day with all those challenges. Spoiler alert: it was!” He laughs again, throwing his head back almost maniacally. 

The camera went black.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Eliot frowns at the camera directed at him, leaning on his knees, “It wasn’t _funny._ Is that what Hardison told you? Of course he did,” Eliot scoffs, eyes dark, “It’s not funny. I don’t know why they think it’s so funny. It isn’t. Cooking is very serious stuff! Cooking is a matter of life, the ultimate serenity, of beauty of-,”

They cut off the rest of Eliot’s sound bite, the rest of his rant falling into television oblivion (later, when the team watch the episode together on Nate’s couch with microwave popcorn and a mound of Eliot’s money, that’s the thing that Hardison and Parker laugh at the hardest).

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Parker’s sound bite is nothing but… hysterical laughing.

“ _Soup is good food_!” She screams, throwing a spatula at the camera- all turns black. 

( _“Dammit, Parker,” Eliot curses when they watch the episode, “Did you really break one of their cameras?”_

_She shrugs innocently, throws a piece of popcorn into her mouth, “They were bad guys. It’s fine.”_

“It’s not fine! Those cameras are expensive, Parker! Do you have any idea how much just one of those things-,” They tune him out just like the producers did.)

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“Thirty more seconds, chefs!” Alton’s voice booms throughout the kitchen. 

Eliot works frantically yet effectively to put the final touches onto his dish, even with the handicap oven mitts that proudly proclaimed TACO TUESDAY on his palms. He finishes mere moments before the buzzer went off, stepping back from his station without so much as a bead of sweat on his head. 

Eliot glances to the other dishes displayed on the stations to his right: amateur hour, really. Sure, Chef Dwight’s looked fine enough, but Hardison and Parker’s dishes… didn’t look like dishes.

A flurry of production assistants’ hands appear and removes all evidence of Eliot’s handicaps from the kitchen. Eliot stands at parade rest as the judge enters. 

“Chefs, let me introduce you to today’s judge: popular chef and restaurateur, the current executive chef at The Charleston- Jet Tila!”

Eliot tenses as the professional chef enters the room, waving to the imaginary crowd behind the camera lense, eyes lingering on hypothetical points around the cavernous kitchen. 

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Alton says without flourish, guiding Tila toward Eliot’s leading station, demands, “Tell us what you’ve prepared today, Chef.”

Eliot nods, then goes right into things, explaining his deconstructed southwestern-style tacos. The judge nods appreciatively, hums curiously as he takes a second bite. Eliot doesn’t react, held still with his shoulders back and his arms behind his back, pinned back with professionalism. 

“It’s a bit… simple considering your assignment was as open ended as tacos. It kind of reminded me more of nachos than tacos and I found myself longing for more genuine sustenance on the plate. But with that said, I would also like to comment that the flavoring on the meat was quite impressive. It packed a punch that I really enjoyed. Good job, Chef. Thank you.”

Eliot nods then watches from the corner of his eye as Alton and Tila move on to Dwight’s station. If it had seemed that Tila was disappointed in the simplicity of Eliot’s dish, it was nothing compared to the dissatisfaction with the lack of creativity involved in Dwight’s dish. Dwight had constructed a very classic taco. Delicious, but with very little risk. 

Tila thanks Dwight and moves on to Hardison’s dish with a raised brow, “What do we have here?”

“This, my fellow chefs,” Hardison says, hands flailing like the desperate host of an overplayed midnight infomercial, “Is the _future_!”

Chef Tila doesn’t really get it. Hell, Eliot doesn’t understand the dish, and he lives with the man. It simply doesn’t make sense. It’s charred and flattened and… did that go through the ice cream maker? Eliot doesn’t doubt that Hardison simply used the coolest looking machine and didn’t even think about the way that all the flavors and textures would mesh. There was a reason that he was only in the kitchen at all because he cheated- not merit, skill, or even raw talent. Hardison very obviously had no clue what he was doing, but the effort is very obvious in the dish, so at least there’s that. 

“Well… thank you, Chef Hardison,” Tila says, looking like he was about to vomit. He moves onto Parker’s station and just stands there, shocked, “What is this?”

Parker beams, for some reason, “It’s a dessert taco!”

In all reality, it’s really just a lump of sugar with chocolate chips tossed into it. Tila very obviously has no idea what to do, “I don’t think I’m going to take a bite of that.” Tila says regretfully, “I don’t think I can.”

Parker nods understandably but crosses her arms across her chest and pouts despite herself, “Whatever.”

Eliot tries and comes up empty when he tries to account for what she spent the allotted time doing. It’d almost be alarming if he didn’t also at least somewhat expect it.

Chef Tila steps away from the line of stations to deliberate with Alton. It’s more for show than anything else. 

Parker, predictably, is the one to get kicked off first. 

“While I appreciate the creativity of your dessert taco concept, I don’t believe that it was executed well. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t quite able to comprehend your vision with this dish, which is why I’m sorry to say that you’re going home today, Chef Parker,” Tila says from the top of the room, six shiny cameras pointed at him. 

Parker, also predictably, makes a scene. Just for funsies. She’s been hanging out with Sophie too much, if you ask Eliot, learned to obtain a flair for the dramatic. 

“This is an outrage! An _outrage_!” She yells at the top of her lungs, tearing off her apron and throwing it to the ground, stomping in the direction of the cameras offstage, “I’m a better chef than all three of you sad, sad boys could ever be! This whole show will hear from my managers, oh, you’ll hear, and they’ll tell you all about what a fantastic chef I really am! This game was rigged- _rigged_! I never would have been cut this early if I wasn’t a woman, I swear!” 

Parker falls silent as she finally takes a seat on a stool just behind one of the cameras on the sideline, her little show over. Eliot looks at her curiously as the internal switch flicked from drama queen to catlike thief: she must have started taking pointers from Hardison and Sophie about acting and drama and ‘cultivating a character with a rich story’ or whatever they liked to call it because he’d never seen her strut across a stage and yell with such conviction. He is impressed, almost even proud, but he has other priorities at the moment, such as winning the whole goddamn show. That’s right.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“How do I feel about getting booted off? How do I _feel_?”

One of the cameramen flinches in fear and damn Sophie should be proud. Parker clenches a fist and shakes it dramatically at a hypothetical point in the distance. 

“I’m outraged, frankly,” She says, “It’s the travesty of the century. A really big mistake. That judge was an _idiot_ \- an IDIOT, I say!”

The lead cameraman chooses to pan the camera away from Parker’s flushed, desperate expression before she becomes violent.

”Uh, thanks,” He says quickly, “That’s all. You can leave now.” 

The switch flips again. She’s smiling sweetly, “Alright. Thanks. See you around.”

Parker skips away. The crew is terrified of her. _Twenty pounds of crazy and all that_.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“Why would I care that that Parker chick got kicked off?” Hardison shrugs, huffs, eyes darting, “It’s not like I knew her or anything, pssh.”

Even the cameramen can tell that he’s lying. Maybe Sophie needs to talk to him about the elegant art of acting, too, give him a couple of pointers. Push him out of that van of his every once in awhile. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Alton congratulates the three remaining chefs with a grim nod of his head, “But don’t get too comfortable, boys. The next dish you’ll have to have to create today… is a poutine! Another simple dish that we ask you to put your own unique flair on today.” 

Eliot silently thanks the gods: he had been taught how to make the perfect traditional poutine by a real Canadian woman in the northern tundras of a secluded island in the Hudson Bay while on the run from a particularly vengeful sect of the Scottish Mafia (slightly less known than the Italian Mafia, but just as violent). Eliot is pretty sure Hardison has never even heard of poutine. Dwight shifts comfortably from one foot to the other. 

“All right, chefs!” Alton clasps his hands together, “Now is your chance to gather your ingredients from the Cutthroat Kitchen Pantry. 3, 2, 1- _go!_ ”

Eliot and Dwight jog into the pantry while Hardison honest-to-god cackles and leaps over Alton’s front island before entering the pantry. It’s achingly obvious based on the senseless ingredients that Hardison is reaching for that he has zero clue as to what exactly a poutine is. Good for Eliot. 

”Psst, Eliot!” Hardison hisses, quiet and high-pitched, as they run into each other by the grains. Hardison blindly grabs a bag of rice, “What’s a poutine?”

Eliot glares at the hacker, brows furrowing into his patented angry face, and he grabs a bunch of fresh parsley, shoves it violently into his basket, “Figure it out, Hardison!” He hisses back cruelly, “Geesh!”

Alton Brown announces the 30 second mark. Eliot needs to get something from the opposite end of produce. Alec heads over to bother Dwight next.

They get out of there, rushing about, throwing last minute ingredients into baskets. Eliot is content, passively mentally catalogues the ingredients that he managed to grab. Hardison continues to look confused, glancing into Eliot and Dwight’s baskets without the smallest bit of subtlety in it. 

The bidding on the challenges commences. Predictably, Hardison buys just about all of them and gives them directly to Eliot. Dwight manages to get a bid on one this time, just for bid’s sake, but he gives it to Eliot, too, so there really isn’t all that much of a point. Once again, Eliot’s dish is completely turned around. He has zero plan and every challenge available. He’s totally gonna win anyway. 

“Alright, chefs!” Alton says, one last time, “Get ready to cook, in 3, 2, 1- _cook_!”

Eliot doesn’t waste any time getting right to work. He has enough to deal with, what with his hands tied together, half his basket taken away, and half a dozen mystery ingredients that he’s required to use. His challenges are aplenty, but he’s got this in the bag, he knows it. He sets to work diligently. 

Eliot catches Dwight staring at him in awe as Eliot expertly chops a large pile of vegetables into tiny julienned matchsticks with his hands tied together. Many chefs couldn’t do it that well with all the time in the world and all the mobile capacities. Eliot knows this too. He keeps chopping.

“ _Eliot_ ,” Parker hisses from behind one of the big, square cameras, “Come here!”

“I’m a little busy right now, Parker,” He mumbles with a glare, brows furrowed, before turning back to his dish. If he were to turn away right then, he would most likely burn his main protein. And he still had no clue what he was going to do with that pez candy that Dwight had forced on him. 

There’s a beat of silence from Parker’s general vicinity, a cameraman snickers but otherwise her secluded corner is silent, and Eliot almost counts himself lucky, but of course, Eliot should know that nothing is sacred. 

“Eliot,” She hisses again, more fervent, at a faux stage whisper that is quite possibly the most conspicuous whisper since the cave men learned they could lower their voice, “This is really important.”

Eliot sighs, takes his pan off of the stovetop, and well, he really had needed to let it cool for a few moments, “You have thirty seconds, Parker,” He says to her, glaring as he wipes his hands on the front of his apron, “ _Go._ ”

Parker takes a deep breath like she’s about to run a 100 meter sprint followed by a marathon before swimming laps in a pool the size of a football field, then she speaks, quickly, “I don’t know how and I really didn’t mean to, I really, really promise, but I think I accidentally found a secret gambling ring run by the show’s producers and also some suspicious banking and money handling by some of the crew appears to be money laundering and I really wouldn’t care normally, I promise, but they’re going to blame it on Alton which’ll ruin his reputation and cause him to lose his job and so we have to save him because he’s a good guy and this is what we do, isn’t it? Save good people from the thieving bad ones, so I think we should do something to save Alton Brown before the episode is done shooting and also I think that apron looks really good on you and that you should be nicer to Hardison and that um, no, that’s all.”

She finishes with a gulping breath, all in less than Eliot’s thirty seconds. Eliot just stares at her, a grumpy frown dipping down his cheeks, “Are you kidding me, Parker? This is the only legitimate, not illegal thing that I’ve done in the past year and you somehow discover a complex money laundering scheme on the show? How do you do this?”

Parker smiles nervously, “It was an… accident?”

Eliot groans, grunts, kicks at the foot of a nearby table, “Okay,” He says, “We’ll help Alton goddamn Brown not go to prison. You tell Hardison what to do. I need to get back to my poutine. Don’t be wrong about this.” He swings the towel over his shoulder and rushes back to his station. 

Goddamn Parker and goddamn these showrunners for being _dirty_ on Eliot’s day off. 

No rest for the wicked. He gets back to his poutine. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“ _Tell us how you feel about Chef Dwight?_ ” A producer asks from off camera, a green light blinking on the huge, man-size camera as it trained on Eliot’s relaxed visage. 

Eliot cocked his head at the camera lense, “Chef who? Oh, that other guy? I’m not worried.”

The show runners didn’t even have to _try_ to pull that out of him. That sound bite was absolute gold. They were overjoyed- less work for them. Elliot knows how to play things up for a camera. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“Oh, yeah, Chef Eliot seems like a pretty nice guy actually. I’m fairly impressed with the skill he’s shown in the kitchen. Why what’d he say about me?” There's a whispered muttering behind the camera, telling Dwight what Eliot had said verbatim, “Excuse me? I disagree. Now I’m gonna win this whole thing just to prove him wrong.”

The show runners held a mini party behind camera- they were gonna have so little work to do this week, the contestants were doing all the work for them!

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“Honestly,” Hardison says, taking a nice, loud bite of his apple, “I’m not entirely sure why I’m here. But I’m gonna kick ass while I’m at it.”

The crew rolls their eyes. 

Whatever, at least they have Eliot and Dwight. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Half an hour later and the chefs have all briefed Tila on their dishes. 

It goes just about as expected. 

Eliot’s dish is decidedly immaculate. Dwight’s is fine, not particularly extraordinary, but good enough, edible if not tasty. Hardison’s dish might not even be a dish. The judge tries his damnedest to so much as eat the mushy ol’ thing and he makes a face when he finally does. 

Predictably, Hardison gets the boot. 

“Chef Hardison,” Alton says dramatically with a flourish of his hands, “Please Return all of that sweet, sweet cash.”

Hardison goes willingly, though he mutters nonsensically about the hoo-ha-ha that’s happening and how this show is an utter disgrace and disrespectful to his very skills. He laughs between each comment. Nobody takes him very seriously. He lands gracefully in a metal foldout chair backstage beside Parker. The cameras swivel away from him and refocus on Eliot and Alton. 

Nobody’s paying any attention at all to the two booted chefs. Hardison turns to Parker, knowing full well what comes next, “Alright, girl,” He says, “What d’you got?”

“How fast can we get $100,000 cash in here?”

Hardison grins, pulling out his smart phone, “Give me an hour.”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The camera closes in on Dwight’s shocked face.

“What the hell just happened?”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The third dish turns out to be another street food classic: empanada. Luckily for Eliot, he had lived with a lovely young Argentinian woman named Gabi who owned a food truck in New York that cranked out hundreds of empanadas every day. Eliot knew empanadas. As he and Dwight raced to the pantry, Eliot wasn’t worried. He had this in the bag. 

As Alton nearly shuts the pantry door on Dwight’s arm, Eliot spots Parker and Hardison grifting out of the corner of his eye. Parker appears to have changed into a pantsuit and Hardison is flashing a leather badge at a cowering intern. Eliot shifts his focus to his empanadas. 

When the bidding starts, Eliot opts to focus on his dish. He still has his full $25,000 and he doesn’t need to be wasting it now. Eliot knows full well that he can handle a couple obstacles. Dwight wastes a couple hundred dollars down, and Eliot watches the producers whisper behind the camera as Alton gives Eliot his impediments. Nobody has ever made it this far on the show without spending a cent, it completely subverts the premise of the show, but Eliot’s never been one to walk the straight line. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend just a little money to give Dwight the last obstacle?” Alton murmurs, voice lowered, as he gives Eliot the utility knife he’s forced to use.

Eliot shakes his head and effortlessly opens the knife and cuts his pork chop right down the center in one fluid motion, eyes dark and serious the way they get when he’s talking about vengeance or cooking, “I’ve got this, chef.”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Just before they reveal their final dishes, the show cuts to another talking head. 

Eliot glowers at the camera. 

“I didn’t spend money because I didn’t need to. As a chef, you need to know how to be in charge of your kitchen no matter the situation,” His eyes go glassy and unbeknownst to the viewers, Eliot remembers back on the time he created a six course meal for a princess in Japan while naked at gunpoint with a particularly nasty bullet wound in his left forearm, “I’ve had enough experience to know how to deal with a couple handicaps.”

The producers are vaguely frantic, the word _unprecedented_ whispered from behind the boxy camera. 

“Are we done here?” Eliot demands, just as Parker pickpockets the head showrunner.

Eliot’s waved dismissively back to his station. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Before Tila is brought out for the final round, the camera people make a tweak to the lighting, and Parker quietly pulls aside Alton Brown to tell him the truth about the producers’ corruption. He nods grimly and she scurries off when a production assistant starts heading their way. 

“Ready to roll, Mr. Brown?”

“Uh, yeah, let’s roll.”

“ _Action_!”

Eliot watches as Alton Brown instantaneously shifts into actor mode, a big gleaming smile on his face as the little blinking light on the camera changes from yellow to green, “Welcome back to cutthroat kitchen. Today I’ve asked these gentlemen to make us their finest empanadas. Let’s see what they were able to come up with. Chef Dwight, please bring up your dish.”

It goes about as predicted. Dwight doesn’t bomb the dish but, once again his empanadas are stewed in… mediocrity. Though skill and precision is undeniably evident in his dish, Tila is obviously not wowed by what he’s been served. The guest judge nods dismissively as Parker offstage adopts the same goofy, smug smile she gets when she knows Eliot’s about to kick some unassuming henchman’s troublesome ass. 

“Chef, Eliot. Please present your dish.”

Eliot brings forward his rendition, and Alton visibly smothers a surprised gasp after taking the first bite. Tila can’t stop nodding. 

“I’m impressed, Chef Eliot,” Tila says, going in for another bite, “The meat wouldn’t be my first choice. I can’t even tell what it is in there, but the way you prepared it- this is the kinda thing I’d serve at one of my restaurants.”

Eliot can hear Chef Dwight shuffling nervously behind him, as he nods politely at the judges and backs up to his station, near-empty plate in hand. To everybody watching save for Parker and Harrison, Eliot’s face is calm and composed, verging on nonplussed, his pride buried beneath a million misleading micro expressions. 

He settles into a hard lined parade rest behind his station and awaits further instructions, all eyes on him. 

The judges deliberate, Dwight continues to fidget, and Eliot continues to stand like a proud statue behind his station. 

The deliberation lasts just long enough so as to not offend Chef Dwight. There are whispers behind Eliot: Parker and Hardison and their conspiring, sure, but the producers too. There’s that word again. _Unprecedented._ Eliot’s an unmoving picture of humility. 

“Okay, Chefs,” Alton says, clapping his hands together, “We’ve come to our decision. The chef with the best dish tonight, and the winner of Cutthroat Kitchen is….”

Eliot watches Alton’s eyes dart around the room, a couple of claustrophobic pinballs. He knows. About the producers, about everything. If he weren’t such a good actor, Eliot might even say he looked scared, afraid. But he’s meant for the camera as well as the kitchen. 

“ _Chef Eliot_!” Alton cheers. 

Eliot shakes Dwight’s hand, then moves to shake Alton and Tila’s hands. A slight dose of smugness seeps through his polite smile. He earned this, didn’t steal it or hack it or beat the crap out of somebody to get it. He won cutthroat kitchen fair and square- hell yeah he smiles right into the camera. 

“Thank you so much,” Eliot says, gripping Alton’s hands. 

“Congratulations,” Alton says, and the show cuts to commercial.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

When the show resumes, it’s not supposed to happen, and it’s obvious. Some assistant to an assistant to an assistant producer has the brilliant forethought to grab the nearest camera and start pushing buttons until the little light turns green. The following scene is shaky, tilted closer to the floor than the ceiling, but it catches just enough. 

The camera catches the way Eliot’s feet slowly inch towards the head show runner.

“Hey, Ken!” Hardison barks suddenly, and the guy drops his clipboard heavily against the nearest countertop. Hardison’s working on getting closer, feet carefully casual. Under his station, Eliot has a firm grip on his favorite knife, “Can I talk to you? You’re gonna-“

Hardison’s cut off by the main entrance to the kitchen set slamming open with a crack, and a sudden stampede of boots. Eliot knows those footfalls. Very distinctive and all that. The Feds. 

Hardison’s eyes flash quickly to Eliot, a million questions tucked into the nanometer of space between his iris and pupil, but the hitter nods calmly in response. They’re fine, totally fine. He’d won the show fair and square. For once, the feds weren’t there for them. Nonetheless, Eliot’s grip tightens around the knife. 

Agent McSweeten pushes to the front of the small mob. He’s got a walkie in one hand, a gun carefully trained outward with the other. Hardison lets out an involuntary breath. A familiar face. 

Suddenly, Alton is moving forward and pointing frantically at Ken, “It was the producers!” He accuses loudly, verging on frantic, but nonetheless resolute, “They’ve been double dipping into the show’s profits!”

The camera sways uneasily and is pushed quickly to the left. The world surreptitiously watches as a producer tears his headset off of his head just as Agent McSweeten’s gun swings slowly from no specific target to one very particularly. 

“Ken Day!” McSweeten says, his voice schooled into a serious facsimile of a very serious agent, “You’re under arrest!”

The camera catches the way Ken looks around frantically, calculating many possibilities in a matter of seconds, his eyes darting in every direction. He then makes the most wrong possible move, and grabs at both Hardison and a nearby knife, holding them both close. 

The agents move their guns slowly until they’re pointing at the floor, and Agent McSweeten hooks up his walkie so he can raise one hand, a half-surrender, prepared to negotiate. But Eliot doesn’t negotiate. Not when Hardison’s life is on the line. Not even a little bit. McSweeten starts to calmly ask the producer what he wants, but Eliot doesn’t feel like listening. His grip tight on his knife, he ignores the agents and the chefs and the cowering craft services crew. His eyes narrowed, he approaches the man who holds Hardison in his clutches. 

“Mr Day,” Eliot says, knees bent as he approaches the producer like a wild animal trainer, a scene straight out of Jurassic Park, “You’ve just made a grave error.”

The asshole has the nerve to grin like some kind of smug, self-centered, prideful… well, asshole, “And what do you think that is? From where I’m standing, I have all the leverage. And our agent friends over there are going to give me every thing I want.”

“That’s true,” Eliot says carefully, getting ever closer, knife held behind his back, “Those pushovers would probably give you whatever you asked for, and let you get away with all your crimes too. But you made a mistake. You forgot to look up.”

In one seemingly slow motion moment, Ken looks up to find Parker soaring down from the vaulted studio ceiling to meet him, landing a solid foot right on his nose. The producer is helpless but to drop his weapon to clutch at his nose. Hardison wiggles quickly away, leaving Eliot room to bound forward and leave the asshole with a couple more parting gifts than a mere broken nose. 

The agents have all stopped to stare in abject admiration. Alton looks like he’s about ready to jump in to the fight right alongside Eliot. 

“And your second error?” Eliot rasps, Landing a solid blow to the producer’s ribs with a tightened fist, “You picked the wrong guy to hold hostage.”

By the time Eliot throws Ken at McSweeten’s feet, the producer is heaving and coughing, bent over as if to touch his toes for an 80’s leotarded workout video. Eliot pushes his hair out of his face, glaring, “All yours, Agent.”

McSweeten blinks, “Uh, thanks.”

One of the junior agents hauls Day up by his armpits and slips his limp arms into handcuffs, tightens them a little more than necessary. 

The whole crew watches as the troupe of agents lead the dirty producer off set. Alton Brown starts a cheer of Eliot’s name, and Eliot accepts it with only a little prideful smugness (okay, more than a little, but he just beat up a money launderer, so it’s warranted), until Parker throws a heavy arm over Eliot’s shoulder and tugs him closer by his neck. Hardison isn’t far behind. 

“We saved Alton!” Parker cheers, giving Eliot absolutely no personal space, “Yay for us!”

Eliot growls tiredly under his breath, glares at Parker, “I beat up a guy in front of a roomful of cameras, Parker. Then I handed the guy off to the feds. This was barely a win.”

“Yeah, hold up, can we talk about that? Y’all know you gotta warm me a little before you go giving our location to the feds next time, ‘Kay? Not cool.”

Eliot and Parker shrug in tandem. 

“Y’all’re weird, yknow that? Real weird. Hm.” There’s no weight behind his words. They walk in silence toward the door. There’s feds crawling all over the set now, their presence is more than ill advised. 

They’ve still got their arms interlocked in a tangle of fondness, still wearing near-matching monogrammed chef jackets and nearing the side door that lets out into the parking lot, when Alton Brown catches up with them. 

“You guys aren’t real chefs, are you?” Alton asks, a conspiratorial smile tugging at his cheek. 

Parker looks up at Eliot, then Hardison: an immediate, unspoken conversation. Then Parker tugs Eliot even closer, and Hardison smiles widely from Eliot’s other side.

“Eliot’s a great chef,” Parker announces, nodding intently, “It’s what he’s best at.”

Hardison agrees immediately, “It’s a mystery why he doesn’t have a fancy job.”

The pair of them look ridiculous: a pair of bobble heads during an earthquake. Eliot’s more touched than he knows how to express, so he just smiles kindly at Alton, examines all of the man’s microexpressions in a single instance. Alton knows more than he lets on. 

But then, all the pro chef does is let that smile of his take over, and he reaches a cordial hand out to Eliot, “Thank you,” He says, and Eliot’s rarely heard somebody mean those two words as much as he does then. Eliot’s responding grip is firm and kind. 

Alton watches as the three of them sneak out the back door- champions of the cutthroat kitchen. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The show cuts to one final talking head. They weren’t able to get one from Eliot before he wordlessly disappeared from set, so they interview his opponent instead. 

The camera zooms in on Chef Dwight, elbows resting hard against his knees, fingers laced haphazardly through his nestlike hair. His jacket’s half undone. 

Dwight looks directly into the camera, and says exactly three words.

“What. The. Fuck.”

The network is required to bleep out that last one, but they still keep the interview. There’s never been an episode quite like that before. 

Chef Dwight’s manic face, jaw hanging open and eyes wide, is the final thing on the screen before the show finally- _finally_ \- cuts to credits. The theme rolls. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

As one, Parker, Hardison, and even Eliot, turn to face Nate and Sophie, eagerly gauging their reactions. The older couple aren’t quite sure how to respond. 

“Well?” Parker demands, “What’d you think?”

Sophie schools an unsurprised expression onto her countenance, but at least Eliot knows better by now. She crosses her legs over one another, “That was certainly an interesting episode of cutthroat kitchen, Parker. You guys really-“

“You know you can’t let them air that, right?” Nate directly interrupts Sophie’s kind speech. The corners of her mouth pinch meaningfully. 

Hardison rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, not a soul will ever watch it, but you gotta admit- that was pretty cool.”

Nate shrugs, “I’ve seen cooler.”

Eliot knows Nate’s just giving the hacker a hard time, but it appears to go completely over Hardison’s head. As per usual. Hardison splutters incoherently. Eliot lets it happen.

“You’ve seen- did you see that?! Alton Brown was there. Eliot won- I was on the tv! We-“

Parker pats kindly at Hardison’s shoulder, and his words finally fizzle into silent mumbles. Eliot smiles. Nate totally sees it. 

“So let me get this straight,” Sophie says, pointing accusatorially at the three of them, finger swaying between them like an elegant facsimile of a judgemental pendulum, “You two hacked your way onto a popular tv show just to prank Eliot and then in the process you discovered a money laundering scheme and saved a popular tv personality from getting framed for it?”

Parker nods eagerly, “Yeah! Exactly!”

Sophie cracks a smile, “Good job.”

Parker’s smile impossibly expands, and suddenly she’s jumping on the balls of her feet, “We just did what we thought you and Nate would do.”

Sophie unfolds her legs, leans kindly forward, one hand pressing into the tabletop, “Your acting has really improved, Parker. I could really tell you were getting into your chef character. You had motivation. Great improvement.”

“You really thought I was good?”

Sophie nods, “Oh, yes,” Her eyes dart to Nate, a meaningful look burrowed within a swift glance, “I couldn’t have done it much better myself.”

Parker grabs suddenly at Hardison’s bicep and bodily pulls him out of the office, “C’mon, Hardison! Let’s go celebrate! Let’s go jump off something!”

Hardison looks back as Sophie stifles a laugh, horror in his eyes. He mouths _please help me_ at Eliot, but the hitter laughs and shakes his head, and they all watch as Parker pulls Hardison away. 

They watch the door shut behind them. 

“I should go make sure she doesn’t kill him,” Sophie says, and struts gracefully after the conversely violent exit. 

Nate and Eliot are left in silence. Eliot reads Alton’s name in the credits as his name rolls by. Nate does the same. 

“Did you really win? No cheating, nothing illegal?” Nate asks, not taking his eyes off the rolling names for even a moment.

Eliot chuckles, “Hell yeah, I did.”

“Good job.”

And with that, Nate slides off the tall stool, and with a passing pat on Eliot’s back, follows after Sophie, leaving Eliot completely alone. 

The credits end, and Eliot smiles to himself. 

He gets up and crushes the CD without an ounce of remorse. 

Now he knows he would win cutthroat kitchen. He much prefers knowing that Parker and Hardison like his cooking than some celebrity chef. Doesn’t mean he can’t be proud. 

He finds the remote and turns the tv off before leaving the office to hunt down Parker with the others. He has a hacker to protect from a very, very long fall.

”Hardison, I swear to god!” He calls out, following after the rest of the team, “If you destroy this place again, you’re not gonna know what hit you.”

Though Sophie and Nate are both busy trying to pull Hardison away from Parker, the hacker and the thief turn to look at Eliot.

They both smile.


End file.
